


Good Night

by ProfessorMinnie (ProfessorTofty)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Community: HPFT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorTofty/pseuds/ProfessorMinnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dumbledore fights off sleep like an old friend.<br/>One shot. Complete!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Night

Dumbledore sat in his office chair well after all the other portraits had gone to sleep. The faint scratching of his quill, the soft snoring of the portraits, and the small snorts of steam from his many table-topped devices sounded a sonoric somniac symphony all for one man to enjoy.  
  
Dumbledore worked and he worked until a small device near the door started to puff red smoke. He dreaded the sight of it ever since he promised McGonagall to put it in last summer. He frowned to himself and put down his small, tidy phoenix quill, capping the purple ink bottle. Dumbledore popped his nighttime lemon drop into his mouth, letting his mouth slowly dissolve the small candy before he slid the bowl into his desk.  
  
As he sucked on the lemon drop, he selected one of his old favorites, The Tales of Beedle the Bard from the shelf. The Sorting Hat was snoring, sounding like a canvas cloth fluttering a wind that wasn’t there.  
  
He puttered around his large space, still wearing his sensible black slippers, from McGonagall, that he had put on the night before. With the Bard in hand, Dumbledore concentrated his efforts into translating the Middle French with scattered Celtic runes in his head.  
  
I will never be able to decipher that fifth conjugation…” he muttered to himself. Dumbledore shelved the book once more.  
  
Fawkes let out a trill, a short calming note. Dumbledore looked over to see his old friend roosting, his small beaked head tucked under a short, downy wing. Dumbledore smiled and refilled Fawkes’ water bowl with a wave of his hand.  
  
It took a long time for Albus to remember that he was supposed to be in bed. That same device’s red smoke turned purple. He hummed to himself as he turned off the oil lamps on his desk, setting off a small timer in yet another whirring silver device in the main office. He walked the short distance into his chamber, closing the small wooden folding doors behind him.  
  
Dumbledore exchanged his day robes for a long multicolored night robe with many different colors and textures, his peaked cap for a floppy, twisted nightcap that was itself lime green. He looked at his shoes, at the simple gift from McGonagall.  
  
“It was a lovely gift indeed, but I think I will wear something more suitable for today…” Dumbledore whispered to no one in particular.  
  
He hooked his finger around the heel of the slipper, flipping them both into a neat row by the door. Selecting a different, more curly pair of slippers, Dumbledore decided to look around his room.  
  
The small triangular desk in the corner of the small chamber held a large stack of papers that Dumbledore had yet to look over. He sighed and summoned an ink bottle and quill, sitting at another desk and beginning his second round of signing papers and reviewing treatises on the more unexplored sides of magic.  He sank deeper and deeper into his chintz chair before forcing himself to sit up once more.  
  
Feeling as if his efforts were useless, he put himself through a rigorous session of wizard’s chess as he still tried to grasp just what was the fifth Middle French conjugative of ‘hop’ was. His eyes ached, his head drooped and his body became heavier than dragon dung but Dumbledore could not sleep, did not want to sleep.  
  
Sleep was where his compacted guilt, the toll of stress, and the weight of responsibility wreaked havoc on his aging mind. Ariana was there, his own mother, his father, and none more so than his brother and Grindelwald. In the throes of dreams, Dumbledore couldn’t distinguish what was real and what wasn’t.  
  
“Dumbledore, you need sleep. Every living creature, even Dementors need sleep.” he heard Madame Pomfrey’s voice echo in his head. “It’s not good for you to stay up all day and all night; you’ll kill yourself.”  
  
“'Tis better than sleeping… better than… sleeping…” Dumbledore said as he nodded off…  
  
Dumbledore’s eyes flew open violently.  
  
“No! No! No! I will _not_ sleep!” he bolted upwards and walked out of the room, pacing around and around until he collapsed on the floor, heaving, muttering, and crying.  
  
“Albus?” a tired voice called, “Trying not to sleep again?”  
  
Dumbledore, through his fits and drowsy vision could see McGonagall, her hair down, in a bottle green nightie.  
  
“H-how?” he said confusedly.  
  
“Your device, that you put in my chamber?" she said hoarsely, "Come on Albus…” McGonagall said reassuringly. She guided the Headmaster away from the floor.  
  
“Minerva, I-”  
  
“I know, Albus. I know. Just sit down…” McGonagall said soothingly. She led the Headmaster to his bed, who was still breathing shortly. “It’ll be alright Albus, it’ll be alright.”  
  
“Minerva, b-be a dear and grab me a cup would you? I rather think it is time for tea.” Dumbledore said cheerfully, in spite of himself.  
  
“Tea will not help.” McGonagall said like she was Albus’ mother.  
  
Well, sometimes she just had to be his mother when he needed it. She was his friend, and friends go to great lengths for each other.  A little reassurance now and then at bedtime was all but normal in their relationship ever since she found out about his problem a summer ago. A little reassurance at bedtime was normal now in their relationship.  
  
“Here we are, Albus, a nice cup of milk.” McGonagall said, returning to the bedroom with it, and a small bottle hidden behind her back.  
  
“Ah, thank you…” Dumbledore said softly, his mind now off sleep and how much he appreciated McGonagall’s help. “You know… I think it might not be so bad… this…”  
  
Dumbledore was sound asleep, his emptied cup of milk on the bedside. She owed Pomfrey for brewing the Dreamless Sleep potion in advance. McGonagall tucked in the headmaster and took his half moon spectacles off of his nose. She closed the folding door and blowing out the candles around the office. Resetting the device that now emitted blue smoke, McGonagall looked back at the Headmaster’s chamber.  
  
“Good night, Albus.” she said softly to not wake up the portraits. McGonagall closed the door.  
  
She knew she’d be back tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
